The 19th Floor
The wind promises soft, feather-pillow wings
and the crookedly smiling street below,
spreads its blanket arms to me.
The city lights haver and shimmer
like so many torches, all burning, all-consuming;
all carried for you.
Their light wavers and wobbles in the hiss of rain
that could be tears that douse the light and night together
washing blindness and void in a shudder
of stepping back from the pull of siren streets,
the cold caress of copper, iron and steel,
and tempest tossed tree-tops that move in sheets
of green, brown and black. Come back! Come back!
I hear their call as I stumble, a broken Orpheus
who has managed to bring back his love
to the doorstep of day only to realize her fainting limpness
is no mere passing out, but a true and corpselike passing
as her body dissolves in mist and magic.
I howl and tense to leap, feel the budding beatific wings,
the spearpoints of fletchings sprouting through my skin,
unfurling with the whoosh of opening umbrellas
and have the time to notice, in my Mary Poppins' glide and
the cherished curve of hope's cheek being kissed goodbye by
Annette Marie Hyder
If you've any comments on this poem, Annette Marie Hyder would be
pleased to hear from you.